(1923)
#Americans #Modernism
This quiet morning light reflected, how many times from grass and tress and clouds enters my north room touching the walls with
Lady of dusk-wood fastnesses, Thou art my Lady. I have known the crisp, splinterin… White, slender through green sapli… I have lain by thee on the brown f…
The May sun—whom all things imitate— that glues small leaves to the wooden trees shone from the sky
You sullen pig of a man you force me into the mud with your stinking ash-cart! Brother! —if we were rich
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem– save that it’s green and wooden– I come, my sweet,
Sooner or later we must come to the end of striving to re-establish the image the image of
The brutal Lord of All will rip us from each other—leave the one to suffer here alone. No need belief in god or hell to postulate that much. The dance: hands touching, leaves touch...
a trouble archaically fettered to produce E Pluribus Unum an island
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists
Why do I write today? The beauty of the terrible faces of our nonentites stirs me to it:
Snow falls: years of anger following hours that float idly down — the blizzard drifts its weight
If a man can say of his life or any moment of his life, There is nothing more to be desired! his st… becomes like that told in the famo… double sonnet—but without the
When over the flowery, sharp pastu… edge, unseen, the salt ocean lifts its form—chicory and daisies tied, released, seem hardly flower… but color and the movement—or the…
While she sits there with tears on her cheek her cheek on
The living quality of the man’s mind stands out and its covert assertions for art, art, art!
